I was tucking into a Peshwari Nan at the Indian restaurant at the top of our street when I heard a voice I recognised; its baritone rumblings were sticking out a mile from murmur of the restaurant. I looked up, and there, sitting a few tables away was the king of comedy himself, Barry Cryer [hey, this is a big event in Whitley Bay, OK?]. He looked different without his trademark thick-rimmed glasses, but the shock of white hair was a giveaway. Unfortunately, the fact that I recognised him didn’t stop me from getting his name mixed up and when he left the restaurant, I exclaimed to the restaurant staff “Do you know who you’ve just had in your establishment? Barry Humphries!”. They stared.